I don't want to be nice.

A Friday Night in a City Somewhere

 A slightly intoxicated local student (he) upon hearing that my American friend (she) is staying in an apartment in the city center:

"ARE YOU RICH? ARE YOU RICH? YOU’RE RICH AREN’T YOU?"
He spoke loudly, pointing accusingly at her.  She was staring back in silence, shoulders suspended near her ears, mouth open, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Be nice,” I said laughing, patting his arm, trying to make light of the situation.

“I don’t want to be nice,” he said.

"Just a little bit," I wove my fingers between his, lowering his arm alongside mine.

"No," he insisted, looking me straight in the eyes before shaking free of me.

He is inheriting criminal loans for his college education. He gets paid under the table to work nights and studies during the day for exams that his classmates will pay to pass. He commutes everyday from outside the city where he lives with his parents and he speaks of his country as something to “escape.”

We stood in silence on the street. As cars and people passed, we stood there, each humiliated in our own right--my friend for her privilege, me for asking him to pretend everything was fine, and he for exposing us all.

This was an exception. Most everyone has been kind and hospitable, has made me so comfortable and kept enough distance themselves, that it has been easy to forget--even while discussing the wars--that they were real, and not so long ago. Excuse for a moment the material damage of cities shelled, the physical realities of being displaced, of losing your earthly belongings and in some cases the ability to ever come back home. There are other losses—lives and things that are less obvious—that still make people angry and desperate and ache.

In that uncomfortable instant when actual emotion was on the table my supposedly open mind, my noble willingness to learn, was undermined by the fact that I wanted him to stop, to play nice, to pretend, to let it not be real. But it is real.

Maybe this is the most difficult thing about learning from someplace else. You must remember that this is not some glorified field trip or photo op. These are people's lives and this is actually our world. Maybe, realizing this, you (we) could approach studying abroad a little differentlly.

You could spend less time with your fellow travelers, people that come from where you come from. If you are going to be here, then you could try to be here. When you learn about things that are unjust, that are difficult to comprehend much less to live with, you could try to honestly acknowledge them and not seek an escape immediately afterward. You could avoid skype and the movies you brought from home. You could try sitting with that new knowledge for a little while, without searching for a conclusion or a cure or pretending to understand it all. And should you find a person willing to open themselves up to a transient such as yourself, maybe you could do the same.

Comments

Posted on 11/30/2009 by

Michelle Saltis

I love your insight. Traveling for me isn't about just going to see a pretty place, it is about being immersed in the culture, taking all of the good and bad things in, getting to know the local people, and understanding them outside of the context of one's homeland.

Post a Comment

• Email
• Password
• Comment

Login & Post Comment